


Small Blessings

by Zoe1078



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-06-02 20:14:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6580642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoe1078/pseuds/Zoe1078
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A modern day AU focusing on Claire and Jamie's family. I'll most likely add more ficlets, but each one will be able to stand alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jamie stopped short in the hallway, pausing before he opened the door to the Neonatal ICU. The sun had set hours ago, and the ward was dark. The only illumination came from the hallway and the odd bilirubin lights hovering over some of the newborns, which cast the room in a strange blue tinge. Through the glass, he could see that Claire had fallen asleep in the recliner next to the baby's incubator. She looked uncomfortable, as her hand was still inside one of the access ports, her finger resting on their baby's leg.

She was such a wee, delicate thing. Perfect to look at, but tiny. She had arrived twelve weeks early, before the realization that he would have a child, a real, live, breathing, human child, had truly sunk in. Yes, he'd whooped in delight when Claire, with bright trepidation in her eyes, her voice trembling, had told him she was pregnant. When he realized what she was saying, he had grabbed her in a great bear hug and lifted her off her feet, had told her how happy he was. And he wasn't lying, not even a little bit, though he was shocked. He'd wanted a family, had always wanted children, and knew she was meant to be their mother from almost the first time he had laid eyes on her. So when she told him that she thought she couldn't have children after trying for years with her ex husband, he had accepted it, gracefully, he hoped, though with mixed feelings. First and foremost he was disappointed, but it was impossible to be genuinely upset when he had Claire. She made him soulfully, deeply happy, and he couldn't bear to hurt her by letting her think she had somehow let him down. And he thought it would be lovely to have the next few years to spend as a married couple, just the two of them, since their romance was such a whirlwind. They had married after only knowing each other for six weeks. Surely they could take a little longer to start their family. Maybe in a few years they could talk to a fertility doctor, or adopt, or possibly even both.

So when she told him she was pregnant, he was floored. Thrilled, yes, but floored nonetheless. And terrified. His brain froze for what felt like several minutes, but could not possibly have been for more than a few seconds. It was long enough, though, for her to start apologizing. She was a doctor, for God's sake, and she damn well knew better. She shouldn't have assumed, she stammered, and she should have been on birth control. He couldn't seem to make his mouth form words, so he stopped her blathering with an incoherent, happy yell and a tight embrace.

He'd spent the next several weeks getting used to the idea. He was happy, really he was, but in an abstract way. He didn't really know what to expect, having spent little time around babies. Though his sister had a little boy she had named after him, he had been abroad when wee Jamie was born and had only met him a handful of times. Jenny had just had a girl, but they hadn't had the chance to spend much time with her yet. He wanted children, but he wasn't completely certain what to with them.

Even when Claire's belly started to swell, reality hadn't quite hit. It wasn't until weeks later, when she gently took his hand and placed it on the bump, and he felt the baby move against his palm for the first time, that his heart caught up with his brain. Dear God. He was going to be a father. Soon. He was going to be responsible for a tiny human, a helpless little person who would depend on them for literally everything. The responsibility was immense. At least he'd have a few months to prepare. Then Claire had started to have contractions, much too soon, and his anxiety skyrocketed. When she started to bleed, he felt his world collapsing around him. He adored her, would do anything for her, but now, there was absolutely nothing he could do to fix it. And the baby had come nearly three months before they expected her.

Jamie silently entered the ward, nodding in greeting at another drowsy parent hovering over her child. He set his bag on the floor, bent over the plastic case, and peered at his new daughter. She still didn't have a name, even after two weeks. The tag on the incubator still said, "Baby Girl Fraser." They had talked about it before she was born, but thought they had more time to decide. And now that she was here, none of the names they tried seemed to fit her.

She was exquisite. The dark fuzz of her hair was covered in a little pink cap, and there were far too many wires and tubes protruding from her delicate form, but she was still lovely, and so very, very small. He stared at her wee toes and the tiny little fingers curled in sleep, and he wished he could pick her up. Instead, he kissed the tip of his finger, slid his hand through the open access port, and touched his finger to her skin.

Then he turned to his wife. Claire was stretched awkwardly toward the incubator, her right hand touching the baby, as she dozed. Her head lolled uncomfortably to the side, and if she didn't straighten out soon, she'd have a raging headache and backache when she woke. Jamie tenderly brushed her riotous curls from her face and kissed her forehead, gently drew her hand from the incubator, then slid his arms beneath her and lifted her up as if she was a child herself. She started to wake as he settled himself into the recliner and arranged her in his lap. She murmured his name sleepily.

"Aye, lass. It's me. I brought ye dinner. Are you hungry?"

"Thanks," she yawned, "but not right now. I don't think I could work up the energy to eat even if I wanted to." She tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder and pressed her lips to his neck, and he knew that she needed his comfort far more than she needed food.

A nurse stopped beside them and leaned down. "Can I get you another chair?"

Before Claire could answer, he said, "Thank ye, but no." He wasn't about to let go of her. Instead, as the nurse smiled and walked away, he pulled her tightly against him, relishing the solid weight of her body, and pressing his cheek into the tickle of her hair. He closed his eyes and breathed her in, focusing on the floral scent of her shampoo instead of the antiseptic smells of the hospital. "How was she today?" He wished he could have been there, but a pipe had burst at the new distillery, and he had spent the entire day dealing with the mess.

Her body tensed a little. "Had a bit of a scare in the morning. She was having trouble breathing. I was afraid she'd be intubated, but they got away without it."

"She looks peaceful now, but I'm sorry I wasna here wi' you."

He felt her shaking her head against his jaw. "You don't have to be sorry. I'm sorry I snapped at you when you left. You didn't deserve it. I know you would have stayed if you'd had any choice in the matter. I'm just… This is just…"

He stroked her back with his open palm, saying, "Hush, now. Dinna fash. I ken." He felt her tremble slightly, and after a minute of silence, a wet droplet landed on his collarbone. He tipped her chin up with the crook of his finger and saw tears running down her cheeks. His heart melted a little at the sight of her glistening eyes, so wide and trusting as she looked up at him. This was the very same expression on her face that captured his soul, fully and completely, only days after they'd met. He had reacted so viscerally, had wanted, no, needed, to tuck her close against him and shelter her from the sorrows of the world with his heart and his body. After he kissed the tears from her cheeks, he asked, "Och. What's all this about, now?"

He was actually startled at her answer. "I can't help but feel this is all my fault."

"What? How could it possibly be? That's no’ possible, and ye ken that."

She curled up against him again, mumbling into his neck. “I was working too much, too hard. It was too much of a strain on the baby. The call, those long nights, the long hours. They offered to lighten my load, but I was stubborn. I wanted to get that hard rotation over with. If I wasn't so stubborn, if I taken better care of her…"

He cut her off before she could get any farther. “Listen to me, lass. You didn't do this. Or did they teach you in medical school that you could stay o’ trouble by lyin’ abed for your whole pregnancy?"

She chuckled despite herself. "Of course not."

"Then did they tell you you could keep a bairn from harm by playing housewife? Or hurt it by standing up too long? By staying up too late?”

"No…” she admitted.

He repeated, “Hush, then. Dinna fash. You've done naught but love her since you realized she was growing within ye." Since he couldn't reach her lips from this angle, he brought her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips firmly against her knuckles.

Quietly, she asked, "How can you be so calm? Don't get me wrong, I'm so grateful. You're my rock, you know? But how are you holding it all together?"

“Mmph.” He told her the truth while he stroked her fingers. "Because I've already faced my greatest fear, mo nighean donn. When you collapsed, when I saw you in so much pain, I thought I was about to lose ye both. I've never been so scairt in all my life. While you were on the ground, I had this, well, I guess you'd call it a vision. I saw you going from me, fading away, and just imagining it left this great void in my chest. I dinna know what I'd do without ye, Claire. I was so afraid, and I knew there was nothing I could do to help you…"

She looked up and him and started to interrupt, "But you were perfect! You didn't hesitate a second. You got me…"

"I called for the ambulance, but that's all I could do! I want to protect you, ye ken? I’d do anything to keep you safe. But there wasn't really anything I could do. I felt so powerless. I'm not like you, not a doctor, nor a nurse. All I could do was hold you in my arms and wait. Did ye no’ feel me crushing you? I knew I was holdin’ ye too hard, but I couldn’t help but feel ye’d slip away from me altogether if I didna hang on tight enough."

She lifted her hand to stroke his cheek in comfort. "I'm so sorry, Jamie. I didn't think what it must have been like for you."

He kissed her forehead. "You didna have the time to fash over me, Sassenach. You were quite occupied, if I recall," he chuckled. "No, I don't tell you this so you'll feel bad for me. I just mean to say that I'm no’ afraid now, because I’ve already looked my greatest fear right in its face. I was so scairt to lose ye, but ye're here. Both o’ you. Right here in my arms, and I willna let ye go. Don't be afraid," he whispered. "There's the three of us now."

Her eyes softened, and he could see that she understood. "You're really not scared."

He touched his forehead to hers. "You're with me, by my side, loving me as I love you. And that gives me faith, mo ghraidh, faith in you, faith in myself, faith in the bairn. Faith in our wee family."

He kissed her then, softly and sweetly, and would have kept on and on, hospital be damned, but he felt her lips stretch wide into a smile, and she pulled away. As Claire turned to look at their baby, she exclaimed, "That's it, Jamie! That's it!"

  
After only a moment, he knew exactly what she meant, and a matching smile spread across his face. “Aye. You're right. That's her, isn’t it?”

“Yes it is. Our little Faith."

 

 


	2. Third Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I needed some Faith and Jamie x Claire fluff, and this is what happened.

Faith was of an age when each day seemed to bring a new skill. Jamie was afraid to look away for fear that he’d miss one of her firsts. She could sit without assistance, and she had just discovered the endless entertainment of peek-a-boo. Murtagh lay with her on the living room floor playing the game while Jamie finished reconciling the distillery’s accounts. 

She began to open and close her hand, indicating that she wanted milk. Claire had been teaching her to sign, and she loved being able to tell them she was hungry. It was convenient, certainly, but Jamie couldn’t help but be a little disheartened that she had learned signs before she knew how to say “dada.” Her first word was, unsurprisingly, “mama”, and then she had added “up” to her repertoire so that she could more easily demand to be carried. The signs for “milk” and “more” followed, but still no “da”. Despite that, everyone agreed that she was a daddy’s girl, and that she loved no one in the world so much as her father.

She had recently started to crawl, after a fashion. She scooted around on her tummy, her wee bottom thrust into the air, arms tucked under her. They called it her commando crawl, because she resembled nothing so much as a soldier plastering themselves on the ground to avoid enemy fire. After she finished her bottle, she executed the maneuver, her goal a colorful pillow that lay on the floor by the sofa. She was obsessed with the little tag that protruded from one side, which was apparently far more interesting than any of the expensive toys she had been given. Murtaugh saw what she was after and couldn't resist teasing the girl. Every time she got close, he scooted the pillow a few inches away. "That's it, lass! You can do it! Just push yourself up on your hands!" For he had been trying to coax her into performing a normal crawl for the past several days. Faith refused to cooperate.

When her mouth began to curl in a frustrated little frown, Murtaugh pushed the pillow toward her before she could start wailing, and she grabbed at the tag happily before shoving it into her mouth. Murtaugh laughed. "She looks just like you when you're hungry, lad, when you'd eat the napkins if there's no food placed in front of ye."

Jamie grumbled, "I havna done that since I was three years old."

"Aye, but you still look just like that."

Jamie didn't think she looked much like him at all, save for a few distinct expressions. She was the image of her mother, and Jamie couldn't be happier about it. Her eyes were had lost their newborn blue-gray tinge to reveal the whiskey color he loved so much, and her hair was dark and curly. Her mouth was Claire's, and her wee nose had the same charming shape. Her determination, too, she had inherited from her mother. Jamie was madly in love, and had been so from the first moment he laid eyes on her. Born prematurely, she was even smaller than he could have imagined, but the emotion that welled in his heart was bigger and more overwhelming than anything he had ever felt, save the soul-deep joy that settled over him when he exchanged vows with Claire.

Murtaugh momentarily distracted Faith from gumming the pillow's tag by tapping her on her nose whilst making a little  _ boop _ noise. Faith found this delightful, scrunching up her nose with a squeal and grabbing at his finger. Jamie surreptitiously pulled out his phone to record the moment. He would have to show the boys the next time they went to the pub. His godfather would frown and grumble and be completely embarrassed, and the lads would give him hell. Maybe the video would make good blackmail material. Indeed, as soon as Murtaugh realized what he was doing, he growled at Jamie to turn it off.

Jamie reluctantly left the two best friends on the living room floor and went to the kitchen to make dinner. Although Claire was perfectly capable of following a recipe, he was clearly the superior chef, with better intuition for what spice might enhance the flavor of a dish, or how to tell when it was done cooking by sight and smell. Moreover, he had time to cook, while she did not. Her surgical training was extremely demanding and somewhat unpredictable. Though his work at the whiskey distillery was neither simple nor easy, it was usually conducted during normal business hours. No one paged him in the middle of the night with emergencies or asked him to perform delicate and dangerous procedures fueled by a mere two hours of sleep.  

He had met her, in fact, at about 2 in the morning. He had dislocated his shoulder during a midnight shinty game in the dark, which seemed like great fun after several pints of beer, despite his complete inability to see anything in the unlit field. It was, indeed, vastly entertaining until he was struck from behind and fell the wrong way on his arm. 

The pain in his shoulder made him sullen and irritable until a beautiful woman entered the examination room and asked him what he done to hurt himself. He had immediately mistaken her for a nurse, despite the prominent “MD” on her ID badge, because he was distracted by the swell of her breasts behind the swinging badge. She merely cocked a brow and clarified who she was. And when she told him that his X ray confirmed a dislocation, his immediate reaction was not disappointment, but sheer lust. If he was this attracted to her while she was wearing shapeless green scrubs, bearing bloodshot eyes from sleep deprivation, her hair a riotous, frizzy mess, without a shred of makeup on her face, how would he react to her if she was all dolled up? And if the touch of her fingers probing his dislocated joint felt so amazing, what would it feel like under better circumstances?

Then he had realized she was still speaking to him and had asked him a question. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“We can reduce the dislocation, but it’s rather painful. I can give you a sedative so you don’t have to feel it all.”

For some reason, the thought of losing any time with her to unconsciousness felt tragic, so he refused sedation, a decision he regretted when she popped his arm back into place. Immediately afterward, though, he felt relief, and thanked her for it. Then he was afraid that she would disappear forever, but she returned with a sling and told him how to take care of his injury. 

Now he was certain that she was going to leave the room and not come back again. He would never see her again. As she shook his hand in farewell, he blurted out, "Hi, I'm Jamie," as if she haven't already read his name from the chart when she first walked in the room, as if they were greeting each other hello rather than goodbye. 

Amused, she had answered, "Yes, I know. I'm Dr. Beauchamp. The nurse will be in shortly to discharge you, and then you can go home and get some sleep. I think you could use it. Have a good night, Jamie."

His godfather gaped at him from across the room. "What the hell was that? Are you still drunk?"

Sheepishly, Jamie answered, "It’s been hours since I’ve had a drink. I don't think I can use that as an excuse anymore."

He was despondent for days. He couldn't forget her lovely face, the feel of her expert hands on his skin, or the humorous sparkle in her eye. Over and over, he berated himself for letting her go without asking her for her number, or at least saying something of moderate intelligence. She must have forgotten him by now, or worse yet, remembered him a damn fool. But when Angus accidentally shot him in a skeet shooting accident, he could have kissed the man in gratitude when Dr. Beauchamp swept into the trauma bay. 

They recognized each other at once. "Mr. Fraser, what on earth have you done to yourself now? And in the same shoulder, no less?"

“It wasna me, I swear. My friend didn't know how to handle a rifle, and got me instead of the clay bird."

She cocked a brow at him. "This friend wouldn't, by chance, have been the same one who tripped you up playing shinty? Because if so, your friend might not really be your friend."

"Och, no." He started to shrug his shoulders in what he thought would be a nonchalant manner, but the motion made him gasp in pain. While she injected his wound with lidocaine to anesthetize it, he told her about his misadventures. By the time she had fished the bullet out, he had her giggling with mirth. He was certain he had never seen anything so pretty. Sadly, before he worked up the courage to ask her out, she was called out of the room emergently and disappeared. He waited anxiously for her return, but a nurse finished dressing his wound and sent him on his way.

Two hours later, he was hovering outside the hospital and plotting ways to injure himself so he could see her again when he found her seated on a bench by the car park, tears rolling down her cheeks. 

Acting purely on instinct, he knelt before her and gently asked, “What is it, lass? What's the matter?"

She hadn't realized anyone was there and startled. As she wiped at her eyes with the tips of her fingers, she said, "Mr. Fraser! I'm sorry, I didn't…"

He couldn't help but reach out and take her hand in his. "Dinna fash on my account. I know it's none of my business, but I couldna bear to keep walking when I saw you so. I don't mean to pry, but is there anything I can do?"

Her eyes met his, and she stammered, "I don't… It's just… you're very kind, but I'm not sure what to say. "

Jamie settled himself onto the bench next to her, but he did not let go of her hand. It was cool, and her skin was smooth. Her long fingers, delicate and skilled, fascinated him, and he rubbed a circle over the back of her hand with his thumb, not wanting to let her go. She stared at the small movement as he said, "Let's just sit, then. You don't have to say anything at all."

Eventually she did, though, and told him of her recent split with her husband. Although Frank had initially been supportive of her decision to go to medical school, neither of them had quite anticipated the time commitment that it would require. They had drifted apart, but rather than make an effort to reconnect with his wife, Frank took the opportunity to have an affair and then blamed Claire for not being present and available. When she had moved to Edinburgh for her surgical training, she had divorced him despite his halfhearted attempt to reconcile. She was handling it well enough, she supposed, most days. But he had caught her at a bad time. This would have been their eighth wedding anniversary, and she was lonely. "I'm so sorry. I can't believe I've unloaded all this stuff on you. You try to be kind, and in return you get a crazy woman spilling her guts out all over you."

She risked a glance at him, and that was it. In that moment, without warning, his heart opened to her. He fell, quite simply, in love. Most women crying this hard looked a little ridiculous, skin red and blotchy, eyes swollen and bloodshot. Claire, on the other hand, looked vulnerable and a little lost, but every bit as pretty as she did when she smiled. The only difference was that now he wanted to tuck her into his shirt and shelter her with his body. “I think it's the very least I can do after you've patched me up twice in two months,” he had said, and then finally worked up the nerve to ask her to dinner. They had been inseparable ever since.

Now, as he sliced carrots for stew, his attention returned to the present when he heard Faith’s wail in the next room. This often happened; she loved gumming the pillow’s tag but became distressed that it mysteriously turned sopping wet. He peered through the door and saw his baby’s wide-eyed, tearful expression. It was identical to her mother’s on that fateful day. Was it a genetic Fraser trait to be programmed to respond to such a face? Because Murtagh couldn’t resist it either and picked up the baby to cuddle her close. He offered her a bottle, then checked her diaper, and when neither worked, he began to bounce her up and down while singing her favorite song.

Something was wrong, though. Perhaps his shirt was too scratchy, or his beard too tickly, or the timber of his voice too rough. She kept wailing, and she wouldn’t stop. In fact, she started to toss herself from side to side and yelled louder while her face bright turned bright red. She even tried to throw herself to the ground in desperation, though Murtagh’s quick reflexes kept her safe. 

Finally, she made known exactly what she wanted. “Dadadadadadadadada!” she cried at an earsplitting decibel.

Jamie dropped the knife so abruptly that it stuck, quivering, in the hardwood floor. He ran into the next room, where his daughter reached her pudgy little arms toward him. As he scooped her up, he crooned, “ _ Mo nighean! _ What is it, lass?”

Faith fisted his shirt, buried her damp face into his chest, and took a long, shuddering breath, immediately calming, just as her mother did when enveloped in his arms. “Da..da...da..da…” she said, quietly now, hiccuping a little at the end.

He looked at his godfather for an explanation. “What happened?” he asked, still bewildered.

Murtagh grinned behind his beard, his arms folded over his chest. He simply shrugged. “She just wanted her da, ye ken.”


	3. Une Nouvelle Famille (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire comes home after a night shift and gets some pampering (and more) from Jamie.

I quietly tiptoed toward the nursery. I had been working nights for the past several days, and I knew I ought to try to sleep until the baby inevitably woke and cried for me, but I missed Faith every second I was away from her and couldn’t resist taking a peek. I gingerly pushed the door open and smiled at the sight before me. The room was still dim, only a little early morning light filtering through the curtains. Faith was sprawled out in her crib, limbs askew, rosebud mouth parted in sleep, eyelids fluttering as she dreamed. Curled in the recliner next to her was Fergus. His legs were tucked under him, and he’d slipped down so far in the seat that his curly mop of hair brushed the armrest. He would surely wake with a neckache if he stayed in that position, so I slipped a pillow under him and tucked a blanket around his shoulders. He didn’t stir, for he was deeply asleep, and I couldn’t resist brushing the hair from his face and kissing his forehead. He didn’t move.

As I rose, I spotted a lump on the floor between the recliner and the crib and reached down to find a damp washcloth. It had the slightly sour smell of old milk, and I searched for evidence of spit up on or around Faith, but found none. 

Now what should I do? Coming home after a night shift, I had to choose between sleep, food, and bathing. There was no chance I’d have time for all three. I considered dropping straight into bed, since Faith might wake at any second, and even fifteen minutes of sleep would be welcome. But the thought of dirtying the sheets with my unwashed body was intolerable. Though I had been gowned from head to toe, the prior night’s surgeries included an emergency colectomy, and there was no way I was getting in bed without washing. Two mornings prior, I had been so tired that I had simply lay down on the floor beside the bed for a nap, which had only lasted half an hour before Faith woke, needing to nurse. But then I had felt disgusting touching my sweet little girl with my germ-ridden body. Shower it was.

The bed was empty and the shower already running when I pushed open the door to the bathroom. While I brushed my teeth, I peered at the reflection in the mirror and saw a hand appear on the glass door of the shower. Jamie drew a circle in the condensation just large enough that we could see one another. “Good morning, Sassenach. Or good night?”

I mumbled around the toothbrush, “I don’t know which one it is anymore.”

“Anybody up yet?”

I shook my head no, so he flashed me a devilish grin and crooked a finger at me, beckoning me in. “Then get in here.”

I shook my head. “I’m filthy. I’ll get you all dirty, and you’ve just gotten clean.”

He laughed heartily. “Ye daft lass, do ye think I care? Come on. I’ll wash your back.”

I couldn’t resist and stripped off my scrubs, catching a flash of my ribs in the mirror. Idly I wondered how I could find more time to eat. Between the calories expended during work and nursing, I seemed to be withering away. 

Jamie enveloped me in his arms the second I stepped into the small shower, pressing his front against my back and reaching around to cup my breasts in his hands. They were heavy and full with milk, even if the rest of me was skin and bones. “Aaah. You feel sae good. The bed’s so empty without you in it. I’ve missed you,” he murmured.

He was as warm and large and welcoming as the bed I’d bypassed to get here, and I was so tired that I leaned into him so that he could hold me up. “Me too,” I muttered. He poured shampoo into his palm, and I fell into a sort of pleasurable trance as his nimble fingers worked it into my hair and scalp. I kept my eyes closed and let him do with me as he would. He said something, I wasn’t really sure what, in low, soothing tones that merged with the sound of the falling water. I was more relaxed than I could remember being in weeks. I felt almost hypnotized.

When he began to soap my body, I chuckled at how very, very clean my breasts and arse would be, and I was finally broken from my trance when I realized the effect my naked body was having on his anatomy. I hardly had the energy to stand, let alone make love, but it was too entertaining to tease him by wiggling my bottom against him.

He groaned and his hands slipped down to hold me still. “Are you trying to kill me, vixen? For you canna possibly want to do this now.”

But my body was reacting to his, even if my mind was hazy with fatigue. I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I turned to him for a languid, slow kiss. We only separated when he knelt down to massage shower gel into my legs and feet.

As the last of the suds swirled down the drain, I blinked down at him while he slowly ran his fingers up the insides of my thighs. I had to hold onto his shoulder for support while he pressed his soft mouth against the newly clean skin of my belly. Between the heat, the water, and the trance-like state I found myself in, my skin was hypersensitive. Despite my fatigue, my body thrummed with want. 

Jamie, reasonably assuming I was too tired for anything else, rose to his feet, kissed me sweetly on the tip of my nose, and reached for the faucet. I reached for him before he could turn the knob, and I turned him back to me. 

He gasped as I took him in my hand. “Claire, don’t you need to go to bed?”

“We won’t make it that far,” I teased. “Here. Now.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He turned me round, and I placed my hands against the cool tiles for support. I forgot everything in the world but the feel of his lips kissing their way down my spine, the sensation of his fingers probing my most intimate places, the strength of his thighs against mine, and finally, the hot thickness of him as he entered my body. 

It was like making love in a dream. The steam filling the air gave everything a blurred edge and immersed us in a cloud. Our voices echoed off the walls of the small room, with quiet words, his soft grunts, and my answering gasps. The water ran in rivulets over our skin and encased us in warmth. Our movements were smooth, intimate. The slide of his palm against my neck. The heat of his hand cupping my breast. His fingers threading through my wet hair. The push of his hips against my flesh. And all the while, Jamie. He was in my heart, in my soul, in my body. It was tender, gentle, and so, so good.

My climax built slowly, starting in my center, growing with each of Jamie’s thrusts, and breaking over me in waves. It went on and on, ricocheting up my spine and down to my toes, arcing over my shoulders and to the tips of my fingers. Jamie felt it too, groaning my name and pushing deep inside me, striving to become one. Somehow, he held steady his pace, sure and slow, to draw out our mutual pleasure. Lost though I was in this never-ending wave, I heard how tightly he controlled himself in the timbre of his voice and felt it in the grip of his fingers on my hips. "Oh, Claire! I can feel ye. Oh, God! You're still…" And I was. 

When he could take it no longer, he curled over my back, wrapped his arms around me, buried himself inside me, so deep, and finally let go. 

After, I felt as if his arms were the only things holding me together, and his strength was the only force that kept me from collapsing. I was bereft when he lifted at himself off of me, but the hot water was quickly replaced by a fluffy towel that he wrapped around me. Realizing how unsteady I was on my feet, he dried me like a child and carried me to bed, tucking me in and kissing my forehead much like I had done for Fergus not long before. 

I was asleep before he stepped out of the room. 


	4. Une Nouvelle Famille (2/2-Fergus and Faith)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Fergus came to live with the Frasers.

I managed a full 20 minutes of sleep before Faith woke up crying. Through the baby monitor, I heard Fergus trying to quiet her, but he had no luck. I stumbled out of bed and down the hall to find him trying to give her a bottle. He looked up apologetically when I entered the room. " _ Je suis désolé, cousine Claire _ . She hates this stuff, and yours is all still frozen."

"I can't blame her. Have you tasted the formula? It's vile." I had been trying to wean Faith off breastmilk and onto bottled formula since six months of age, but she would have none of it, and steadfastly refused to take any we had tried to give her. In just one more month she would be old enough for cow's milk, and I was counting down the days. Until then I was tethered to my breast pump at work and unable to get more than three continuous hours of sleep at home because of Faith's feeding schedule. I draped a baby blanket across my chest and tucked her underneath, sighing as she immediately quieted and began to nurse. "Did she wake you up last night? I saw you'd fallen asleep in here when I came home."

Fergus explained, " _ Oh, oui _ . I can get her back down quickly, though."

I didn't understand. Why was he getting up with the baby? "I thought she was sleeping through the night. That's what Jamie said, anyway."

Fergus looked bemused. " _ Mais non. _ She's teething. Has been waking from the pain." He explained what had happened each of the past several nights. Jamie had slept right through Faith's nighttime awakenings because Fergus had always risen to care for her so quickly. He had learned a trick at one of his previous foster homes and gave Faith a washcloth dipped in cold breastmilk to gnaw on if she didn't settle after taking a bottle.

I was touched. He had moved in only two weeks prior, and already he was integrating himself into our little family in ways I never could have imagined. What made it even more remarkable was that I hadn’t even known he existed two years before.

Jamie and I were pregnant with Faith when we received a startling call from Paris. A distant relative, a child, was in need of me. His name was Claude Beauchamp, and he was an orphan who had run away from his fifth foster home.  _ Aide Sociale a l'Enfance _ , the child welfare office, had done an extensive search for family members since he had not been able to integrate into any of the homes in which he was placed, and they feared he would run again. Somehow they had found me. 

I was floored. Since Uncle Lamb had died, I was certain I was alone in the world. Indeed, I had been until I married Frank, a marriage that, when it ended, left me utterly adrift. When I met Jamie, however, I realized quickly that he was not just a lover. He gave me a new tether to the world, to a community. He gave me a family, which I hadn't had in years. Yet here was someone who was instantly my blood, a distant cousin, alone, much as I had been, and only a child. At the soonest opportunity, we flew to Paris to meet him.

Our first impression of him was not quite what we had hoped for. We arrived at the ASE office at the appointed time, but were informed that he had disappeared only minutes before. Worried, we waited two hours while the police searched for him, but finally left when it was clear that he did not want to do be found. We walked three blocks away to a small café and ordered food, but when Jamie reached for his wallet to pay, it was gone. While we searched frantically through our things, a shopkeeper from across the street hauled a boy into the café and handed Jamie his missing wallet, declaring that our son had been trying to use it to buy a cell phone.

At a glance, it was patently obvious why he thought the boy was ours. The curly mop of brown hair on top of his head looked just like mine, and despite the fact that he wouldn’t look directly at either of us, we saw that his large, wide eyes were the exact shade of Jamie's.

"Claudel?" I tried. He winced a little in response.

" _ Merci. _ " Jamie took the boy's pack with one hand and his arm with the other, and sent the shopkeeper on his way. Inside Claudel's bag he found a man’s watch and a small purse, as well as a familiar wooden snake. "Sawney? Why did ye take Sawney from my pack?"  

"Because I wanted it," Claudel replied matter-of-factly and in perfect English. 

To his surprise, we did not immediately return him to the ASE office, but bought him lunch instead, and spent the meal getting to know him. Food, it seemed, was all he needed to make him happy. He was as ravenous as Jamie. Once his initial defensiveness passed, we found him to be bright, utterly charming, and altogether too smart for his own good. He had learned English in one of his many foster homes, and had learned pick pocketing in another. "That one was not so nice." He would not elaborate further, although he did clarify that nothing specific had caused him to run away from the most recent group home. He said that no one was particularly cruel, and he didn't feel unsafe. "It was not home, so why should I stay? I take care of myself."

Jamie had asked, "So where is home?"

Claudel had no answer, and I understood why. "It took me years until I found mine. Until I met Jamie, actually." My husband reached for my hand and squeezed it, but I kept my eyes on the boy, who tried to hide his interest in my words. I continued, "You know, I lost both my parents when I was five. Car accident. It took me a very long time to understand they weren’t getting better, weren’t coming for me. Then I cried for days.”

“I do not cry,” Claudel declared. “I am a boy. Boys do not cry.”

He needed to appear strong, so I accepted his words without question. “I did. Still do sometimes,” I offered. 

He said nothing for a long time, then asked, “What happened after?”

“Ah. After. I was lucky, I suppose, all things considered. I had an uncle who cared for me, so I wasn't alone."

Claudel shrugged. "Alone is not so bad.”

I nodded but continued, "That's true, but my uncle took me on quite a lot of adventures. He was an archaeologist, so I grew up on his digs. The longest we spent anywhere was three years, I think. That was Egypt. It was amazing, but it never felt like home. Nor did Paris, for that matter. But we weren't here for nearly as long."

Claudel had no interest in hearing about Paris, which he knew far better than I did, but he was fascinated by the idea of Egypt. I told him story after story of my childhood, talking so long that we nearly missed the closing of the ASE office. Jamie gently reminded us that we needed to get him back while we still could, and his face fell. Claudel tried to hand Jamie back his toy snake with a short apology for having taken it, but Jamie pushed it back across the table at him. "Keep it tonight. You can give it back to me tomorrow."

He brightened at that. "Tomorrow?"

Casually, as he was packing our things, Jamie said, "How about we have lunch again? Does that sound all right?"

"Oui!" Claudel eagerly accepted.

For the next few days, we repeated the same pattern. We took him to lunch, spent the afternoon talking, and at the end of the day, Claudel again tried to return Sawney to Jamie. Once again, Jamie told him to hold it for one more day. The same thing happened the next day, and the next.

Two nights before we were to leave, Jamie sat me down in our hotel room. "I think we need to talk."

I agreed. "You're right. I don't know how to say it, so I'm just going to say it."

But Jamie beat me to the punch. "We canna just leave him here."

I was so relieved. We had known the boy less than a week, but already, he had worked his way into both our hearts. Perhaps it was his charm, his wit, or his good nature, but neither of us could have guessed how difficult it would be to leave him behind. And I, of course, knew the fear and heartache of being an orphan. Leaving another child to such a fate was too painful to contemplate, especially since he had no one to be his Uncle Lamb. No one but me. 

But he was my blood, my obligation, not Jamie's. "I can't ask that of you, can I? You didn't sign up for this when you met me, when you married me. "

He actually laughed out loud. "If I didna want bairns, I shouldna have got you pregnant, Claire!"

"But he's not a baby. He's half grown.” In contrast, I lay my hand on my swelling belly. “It's hardly the same thing. And he’s not, well, he’s not yours."

He reached for my hand and squeezed it tightly. " _ Mo nighean donn _ , when I marrit you, I wanted you and everything that came along with ye. He's your kin. That makes him my kin too. And can you really imagine leaving him here?"

"No, no I can't. I don’t think I could live with myself if I did," I admitted.

Now he pulled me close, tucking my head under his chin while I wrapped my arms around him. "Nor could I, lass. Nor could I.”

The next day, we had no choice but to say goodbye. I was scheduled to perform three surgeries the following day, and the distillery required Jamie's attention. Claudel uncharacteristically picked at his food and made no inquiries about whether we'd be back to see him. But when he tried for the last time to return Sawney, Jamie again refused. “Perhaps you can bring it to me in Scotland,” he proposed.

Claudel immediately sat up straighter, and his face lit with excitement. “Like a holiday? I come visit you?”

Jamie looked to me, and I told him, “Actually, we weren’t thinking of a holiday, though we’d love that. We were thinking something more long term. We hope you might consider moving to Edinburgh, moving in with us, for good. I know we haven’t known each other very long, but, well, we’re family, aren’t we? Do you think you’d like that?”

Claudel couldn’t answer in words. He was a boy, and as he had told me, boys don’t cry. So he just swallowed hard, threw his arms around me, and nodded vigorously.

We spent over a year trying to gain custody. In the meantime, Jamie went to visit as often as he could, since I did not have another vacation for months. It was after the first of these trips that Jamie came home referring to him as "Fergus". 

I thought I was hearing things. "Who? What was that?"

"Ah, weel," he explained with a wry grin, "Claudel didna sound verra manly, so he's going to be called Fergus instead."

Thus, after months of working our way through the French courts with the help of our solicitor, a lovely man named Ned Gowan, Fergus Claudel Beauchamp Fraser finally arrived in Edinburgh. 

After I finished nursing Faith, I brought her to the kitchen to see if she would like some solid food. Now I was starving, and much too awake to go back to sleep right away. Jamie was frying bacon at the stove, and Fergus was slathering his toast with butter. 

Faith squealed in delight when she saw him. She had adored him from the first. In the way of babies, she had stared at him, a fellow child, but much bigger than her, in rapt fascination. Soon she took to following him around, crawling after him to see what he was doing. Rather than ignore her or become annoyed, Fergus usually scooped her up and took her with him, chattering away at her in French. He didn't yell at her when she tugged at the wild curls that made up his hair, but simply loosened her fist with a firm “Mais non.” And he seemed to like rolling around on the floor together as much as she did, though I thought he might end up with rug burns on his back, so often did he lift her into the air playing Airplane, their favorite game. Best of all, just two days after his arrival, she had taken her first toddling steps in an attempt to reach him. Murtagh was jealous that Fergus had motivated her to walk, for he had been trying for weeks with no success. 

“Gus gus!” It was her name for him, since she was unable to enunciate the word Fergus. 

“ _ Ma petite foi _ !” He reached back for her with a huge smile, so I handed her over, and she sat in his lap while I made myself a plate of food.

“Are ye looking forward to starting school next week, laddie?” Jamie asked, flipping over the bacon.

Fergus nodded vigorously and spoke around a mouthful of toast. “ _ Oui, Monsieur Jamie. Cousine Claire  _ says I’ll... _ ” _

Faith interrupted him with a shriek, flailing her arms. “Da! Dadada!” she screamed, suddenly irate.

Jamie rushed over immediately, trying to lift her off Fergus’s lap. But she refused to go with him. Instead, she slithered out of his grasp, twisted around in Fergus’s lap, and grabbed at his mouth, yelling, “Dadadadada! Mamamamama! Damadamadamadama!”

Fergus craned his head away from her, trying to keep her from falling as she batted at his face. “Faith?  _ Arretez!  _ Faith, stop!”

But she would not stop. She kept yelling, “Mamamamama” and “Dadadadada!” over and over again.

Finally I managed to pick my squirming, thrashing baby into the air, while Jamie started to laugh. “Oh, she’s right, ye ken. She’s right!”

“Right about what?” Fergus asked, perplexed.

“Our names,” I answered, finally understanding what Faith was trying to say. “She’s right about our names.”

Jamie clapped his hand on Fergus’s shoulder. “I’m no  _ Monsieur _ , laddie, no’ to you. And she’s not  _ Cousine Claire. _ If you would, I think Faith wants you to call us ‘Ma’ and ‘Da’. And we would like that too, if you’d feel comfortable doing so.”

Fergus’s mouth dropped open for a moment, and we all fell silent, even Faith, waiting for his answer. Then, very quietly, he said, “I… I would like that.  _ Oui _ . I would like that... Da.” 

He bent back over his breakfast, and I kissed the top of his head. As I rose, I saw him trying to hide a smile. 

Faith cooed happily. “Gus Gus!” Then she plucked Sawney off the kitchen table and shoved him into her mouth.


	5. The Greatest Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire has a Lump.

“Oof.” I lowered myself heavily into the chair. I was eight months pregnant, though thanks to Jamie’s genetics, the baby was enormous, so I felt at least twelve or fourteen months along. “That’s much better.” 

Faith slid her hands between the slats on the back of the chair and pressed them against my lower back. “Mam owee?” For weeks she had been watching me attempt to relieve my discomfort by digging my fingers into the musculature along my lumbar spine, and now she did it for me. Her tiny hands were completely ineffectual at massage, but the sweet gesture made me feel a thousand times better, though the pain in my back was unrelenting, as it had been all day.

Fergus placed a cup of steaming hot tea in front of me, and I squeezed his hand in thanks. “Did you get to sit down at all today, Maman?” I took a sip of the honeyed liquid and sighed in contentment, for Fergus brewed the very best cup of tea. 

“Once. We only had two cases today, but they both ran long, obviously. I had about half an hour between them, so I planted myself in the only available chair in the PACU. My back wouldn’t be so bad if I could reach across the OR table, but Lump is in the way.” Faith had taken to referring to her sibling-to-be by this name, and the moniker stuck.

Our little girl was endlessly fascinated by my rapid growth, and she wedged herself between me and the table and lay her cheek along my belly. “‘Lo, Lump!” The baby responded to the greeting by kicking me squarely in the ribs.

“I sort of have to bend and stretch in a way I wasn’t meant to. Or if I could rest her on the table, that would be okay too. But I tried it once, and I got an earful from the lead tech.”

“As well ye should!” Murtagh appeared in the door and shook rainwater from his hair and onto the floor. “You’re so big, I’ll bet ye were scooting the patient clear across the table.”

My cheeks reddened, and I reluctantly admitted, “You’re not wrong. She’s huge, and she’s making me huge.”

Jamie leaned over to kiss the top of my head and ruffle Faith’s hair, then corrected me. “ _ He _ , Sassenach. Rest  _ him _ on the table. ‘Tis Brian, not Brianna.”

We had decided to be surprised, so hadn’t learned during my ultrasound whether the baby was a boy or a girl. Predictably, Jamie and Fergus were convinced it was a boy, while Faith offered no opinion. I wasn’t certain either way, but kept declaring it was a girl just to remind Jamie of the possibility. “Or a small elephant,” I mused, “or perhaps a little whale.”

Faith looked simultaneously alarmed and delighted by this possibility. “Efant? Lump Efant?” She leaned close to my belly and yelled into it, “Hi, Efant Lump!” The baby poked a limb out in answer.

While Jamie brought me a plate of dinner, which I’d missed due to the length of the second surgery of the day, Fergus started naming other possibilities, each one less plausible than the last, beginning with a mongoose and ending with a space alien. As I ate, the children started to pile mixing bowls, spoons, and supplies all around me at the dinner table. Apparently I had arrived home just in time to make biscuits. 

Faith wanted to sit in my lap, but between my total lack of a lap and my ravenous appetite for the food in front of me, she had to settle for pushing another chair next to mine and cuddling close. After climbing up next to me, she started to play with the tie on my scrub pants, asking, “Wat dis?”

Apparently I’d left my wedding ring knotted to my pants after surgery. As I returned it to its rightful place on my finger, Jamie leaned over us both. “That’s my first gift to your Ma,  _ mo nighean. _ ”

Murtagh snorted from somewhere behind me. “First gift. Ridiculous. Most lads start with a box of chocolate or some flowers. But no’ a Fraser. A Fraser starts wi’ a wedding ring.”

“It was an accident, actually,” I clarified. “He gave it to me sooner than he meant.”

While Murtagh glared at him, Jamie declared, “It wasna an accident!”

“Did you mean for it to fall out of your pocket, then?” I asked.

Murtagh had obviously never heard the exact circumstances of our engagement from Jamie, for his mouth dropped open in indignation. “It fell out of your pocket? Ye clumsy oaf! What happened?”

Jamie tried to change the subject, but Fergus insisted on hearing the tale. Then Faith fell in line with her big brother and began to chant, “Stowy! Stowy! Stowy!”

Jamie pulled her onto his lap and began to talk. “Weel, ye ken yer Mam fixes people for a living? Makes them better?” Faith nodded eagerly, her brown curls bouncing around her head. “That’s how we met. My shoulder popped out, and she put it back in for me.” This brief explanation turned into a tangent while Faith tried to pull Jamie’s arm from its socket, as she seemed to think his bits might pop off and reattach like so many Legos. He, of course, decided to play along with her, and gasped in mock pain and grabbed the “broken” shoulder, then guided her in “reattaching” it once more. They repeated the game a few times, but once she tired of it, she demanded to hear the rest of the story. He proceeded to explain how he’d gotten shot and landed in my A&E a second time. With a wink, he told her, “And that time I wouldna leave wi’out making sure I had a way to see your Mam that didna involve bleeding or breaking myself.”

After our second meeting, when he lingered by the hospital hoping to see me again, he had listened to me pour my heart out, then had taken me to dinner. I had wanted to go home to change, for my scrubs and puffy eyes didn’t exactly scream date attire, but my loudly growling stomach betrayed my appetite, and he insisted I looked wonderful. I knew I looked nothing of the sort and suggested an eye exam, but followed him into a nearby bistro anyway. After all, he had already seen me at my worst, and he didn’t seem particularly repulsed, so what was the harm?

Over the next few hours, I found Jamie Fraser to be warm, witty, and charming. He put me utterly at ease in a way I hadn’t felt since childhood, recalling fuzzy memories of holding hands with my mother or being carried to bed by my father. Yet at the same time, he drew out of me a kind of joyous giddiness that felt utterly unlike me. I may have laughed more in those first few hours with Jamie than I had in the entirety of my marriage to Frank. 

Warm bowls of stew gave way to cups of coffee and slices of cake, and before we knew it, the staff were sweeping the floor around our feet and clearing their throats in a none-so-subtle manner. We had kept them past closing time. 

I didn’t particularly want the night to end, and I suspected Jamie didn’t either. So when I realized he had no way to get home, having been brought to hospital via ambulance, I offered to drive him back. In contrast to our stream of endless chatter during dinner, the ride was strangely quiet but for his directions. But the silence wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly. I was too busy trying to figure out how to see him again, while he was apparently working up the nerve to ask me inside. As I pulled up to his flat, he blurted out, “Are ye hungry? I’ve some… I’ve, ah… some… food. Upstairs.”

After our dinner had been supplemented by an equally large dessert, I wasn’t, not at all. But I didn’t want to part ways, so I offered, “I’m stuffed as a Christmas Goose. But perhaps some tea?”

Tea turned into biscuits, which turned into coffee when we started to yawn. We moved from his tiny kitchen to the couch, and as the night grew long, I learned all about James Fraser. He was a marvelous storyteller, weaving tales of his childhood, family, and experiences into a rich tapestry. Yet Jamie was just as good as listening as he was at talking. Each one of his anecdotes drew an answering one from me. Without realizing it, I found myself telling him secrets in return, small intimacies which I’d never revealed to anyone. These alternately drew guffaws from deep in his chest or crinkles at the corners of his blue eyes. He even drew me into the tenderness of his embrace when, some time in the wee hours of the night, my emotions bubbled to the surface as I spoke of losing my Uncle Lamb, who had raised me after my parents died. 

He was practically a stranger, yet one (albeit long) conversation made me feel cherished in a way that I had never experienced, not even during the happiest times in my marriage. Perhaps it was this comfort that led me to drift off, tucked into the warmth of his chest. 

Some time later, I was awoken by a crick in my neck. I found myself sprawled fully atop Jamie, whose length couldn’t be fully contained by his sofa. He snored shallowly beneath me. One of his feet rested precariously close to the lamp on the endtable, while the other leg was wrapped around both of mine. I had somehow managed to wedge myself under his sling, and his other hand rested rather possessively on my bottom. That hand, though, wasn’t nearly as distracting as the firm mass pressing into my stomach. I squeaked out loud when his fingers twitched, involuntarily, I think, and held my breath when he sighed, sank his fingers into my arse, and pressed his hips upward. Heat flushed my cheeks as I tried to figure out what to do. I awkwardly tried to disentangle myself without waking him, but succeeded only in tumbling gracelessly to the floor. As I reached for my phone and realized I only had an hour and a half before I was supposed to round on my postoperative patients, he peered over the cushion with a bleary, “Sassenach? Are ye alright?”

Hideously embarrassed by the state in which I found myself, I rushed out, stammering excuses and a halfhearted goodbye. 

Thankfully, I got to the hospital with just enough time for a hot shower in the locker room, and my daily attire of vending machine scrubs saved me from any speculation about a walk of shame. For despite the fact that I had, technically, slept with my erstwhile patient, we hadn’t even kissed, though I know he’d thought of it. I had seen the way he stared at my mouth the night before, and I surely had looked the same way at his. 

I couldn’t focus for the rest of the day, to the point that my attending surgeon, a friendly woman by the name of Glenna Fitzgibbons, asked me what was wrong when I overlooked a hairline tibial fracture on an X ray. I blushed and blamed my distraction on lack of sleep, but with a twinkle in her eye, she asked me if my lack of sleep had anything to do with a certain red-headed patient whose care she had supervised the day before. I was too embarrassed to answer, but that evening, when we walked to our cars together, that same red-headed patient was waiting for me on the benches by the car park with a cup of coffee and a bright smile. 

I started to blurt something incomprehensible to Dr. Fitz, but she just patted my hand, gave me a wink, and offered, “Weel, he’s not your patient any more, technically. Aye?” Then she strode directly up to him and instructed him, “Mr. Fraser, is it? I trust you’re well enough to feed this puir lass? She’s been hard at work all day long, and she could stand some nourishment.”

And nourish me he did. Jamie had come armed with a bag full of groceries, and he whipped up a delicious, home-cooked meal topped off with a sweet wine from his Uncle Colum’s vineyard in France. Our second date didn’t last quite as long as our first, but instead of ending in my frantic flight from his flat, it culminated at my doorstep in the sweetest, softest kiss I’d ever experienced.

The next several days passed in similar fashion. We would meet after work, eat, talk, laugh, share, and flirt. Both my tongue and my inhibitions were loosened by his uncle’s wine and by the whiskey produced by the distillery he inherited from his parents. Yet in those early days, all our clothes stayed on, though we couldn’t seem to keep our hands off one another. Jamie didn’t push for anything I didn’t offer, and I told myself I at least had to wait until his wound healed before making him do anything strenuous. 

In my rare moments alone, I asked myself what I was doing. I was fresh off a painful divorce, working ridiculous hours in my postgraduate surgical program, isolated without family and only a few friends. Perhaps I had latched on to the first friendly, handsome face that looked my way? Could it be? Was I making something out of nothing? Or at least allowing myself to fall much too hard, much too fast?

That Sunday, a mere week after I had patched him up for the second time, I realized he had fallen just as hard as I had, if not harder. It was my first full day off since we began seeing each other, and Jamie didn’t have to work either. We planned to spend the entire day together. First we met for brunch, then planned to see a matinee, and finally we’d cook dinner together at my flat.

We were standing in line to purchase tickets to the movie when Jamie reached into his pocket to retrieve his wallet. As he drew the billfold out, something else came with it. A flash of silver clinked to the ground and wedged itself between two cobblestones. We bent down simultaneously and cracked our skulls together. Jamie reared back with a groan, landing on his bum, while I managed to pluck up the small object. I peered at it while I rubbed the goose egg forming on my temple. 

“What’s this?”

From his spot on the ground, Jamie gave me the obvious answer. “‘Tis a ring.”

I didn’t know what to do with this answer, nor with the ring itself. It was utterly beautiful, moulded of silver, with intricate links interwoven with delicate thistle blooms. I stared at it for several seconds longer than was proper. “Oh. Here you go.” I thrust it back at him, but he didn’t take it. Instead he rose partway, one knee remaining on the cobblestones. Had he hurt himself? Had he twisted a joint in his fall? 

Apparently not, because when he reached out his hand, instead of taking it back, he folded my fingers over the ring. “No, Claire. It’s yours.”

“Mine?” I answered blankly. He didn’t answer right away. He simply blushed to the tips of his ears and looked anywhere but directly at me. I couldn’t figure out where to look either, so I opened my hand and stared at the ring again.

Perhaps it was a concussion that answered me, for when Jamie spoke, he managed to babble a bit, though he spoke very slowly and very carefully. “Aye, Claire. It--it belonged to my Mam, given by my Da when they wed. It was their wedding ring, is what I mean. My Godfather has had it in his keeping since my Da died, and a few days ago, I asked him for it. For you, I mean. It’s yours, though I didna mean to give it to you quite like this. I can… I can hold it for a wee bit, I suppose, until you’re ready...”

But he made no move to take it from my palm. “Until I’m ready?” I parroted.

“Aye. For me to ask ye.” Now Jamie did look me directly in the eye, and I saw hope there, and fear. But most of all, I saw love. Raw, pure, ernest love.

A lump welled in my throat, nearly preventing me from speaking. I barely managed, “Are you asking me now?” 

I’m not sure I was comprehensible, for my voice was completely choked. The involuntary smile that spread across my lips must have been a signal, though, for Jamie took my fist in both of his and began to kiss my knuckles. “Ye ken that I am, Sassenach, for I love ye. I know it hasna been long, that we’ve only just met. But we were meant to be together, aye? God brought me to you when he broke my arm, and just for good measure, sent me back to ye again with that shot, in case I didna get the message the first time. That’s why I looked for ye, after. I didna want to find out what He’d have in store for me on a third go round.”

From the expression on his face, I knew he wasn’t joking. Not entirely. Though he spoke with good humor, he truly believed God intended us for one another. I was stunned. We had only really known each other for a week! “When… When did you plan to give this to me, Jamie?”

His ears reddened again. “Och. As soon as I thought ye’d say yes, I suppose.”

“Oh.” I’m not sure how long it took me to process this information, but Jamie could not have been comfortable with my delay. Despite the fact that he was baring himself to me, exposing his tender heart to a near-stranger, though his hands trembled around mine and I could see his pulse racing frantically through the arteries in his flushed neck, still he looked me directly in the eye with courage and love. And though I knew little enough about him, had only had a week to learn about him, already I knew everything I needed to know. “Well, you’ve good timing, then, even if it was an accident.”

It took a few seconds for Jamie to understand. Gradually the confusion on his face transmuted into shocked bliss. “Claire! Is that… Do ye mean… Ye will? You’ll marry me?”

As I laughed and cried and nodded, unable to form proper words, Jamie slipped the ring onto my finger, and then he pulled me into his arms. I had somehow missed that a crowd had gathered around us, and they burst into applause while we clung to one another. Normally I might have been embarrassed, but I forgot about everyone and everything else while Jamie kissed me, laughed, and whirled me around, then kissed me again and again.

Now, some short years later, Jamie shifted our daughter on his hip and kissed me just as happily as he had that day. She squealed and clapped her hands, while Fergus laughed at the absurdity of our engagement. Murtagh simply folded his arms over his chest, made a wordless, Scottish grunt, and rolled his eyes. 

Still staring at me, Jamie grinned and added, “I’d have marriet your Mam the next day if I could have, but we had to file notice with the registrar, and they made us wait 28 days.” Then he dropped several more kisses on my cheeks and nose.

Faith wanted in on the action and grabbed Jamie’s ear like a handle and pulled him down to kiss her too. He blew raspberries into her neck until she squealed to be put down. 

As my husband and child entertained one another, Murtagh tried to redirect us to our neglected biscuits, and I maneuvered myself into the pantry to gather ingredients. As I pulled the powdered sugar down from the top shelf, Jamie snuck up on me and blew a raspberry onto my neck. He had chosen a particularly sensitive area, which caused me to shriek involuntarily and bobble the sugar between my hands, releasing a cloud into the air and momentarily turning the pantry into a snowglobe.

While I tried to salvage what remained in the bag, he spun me around, his hands landing on my bottom. “Clumsy lass! I hope ye don’t do that with scalpels!”

“No one does that to me in the OR!” I protested. Then I laughed at the sight of the white powder settling in Jamie’s hair and across his clothing.

He aimed a ridiculous, adorable pout in my direction. “I should hope no one’s getting quite sae close to you at work.” He bumped my belly with his stomach and added, “Even if they wanted to, this is in the way. But I’ll manage.” As he nuzzled at my throat and collarbone, he added, “Do ye ken that those 28 days after ye said yes, they were the longest of my life?”

“That bad, eh?”

“Och. I wanted ye so, more than anything in my life. Still do.” He hummed with male satisfaction and sank his fingers into my flesh affectionately. “Ye have the roundest arse I’ve ever seen, Sassenach.”

“Do you remember that first night we slept together? Actually slept, right after our first date? When I woke up, your hand was right there. You found my arse even in your sleep.”

His shoulders shook slightly, and he winked at me mischievously. “No’ exactly in my sleep, if I’m to be honest. When ye fell asleep in my arms, och, I couldna resist. I wanted you so badly! My hand was drawn to ye like a magnet.” Now he goosed me playfully in illustration.

As I giggled and murmured, “Naughty boy!” he began to kiss sweet powder off my cheeks, forehead, and neck. 

“Mmm. Delicious.” Then started to back me up against the shelves. 

I’m not sure how far he might have gotten if the door hadn’t popped open behind him. “Der oo ah!” Faith shrieked victoriously, then grabbed Jamie by a belt loop and dragged him out to a chortling Murtagh before tugging me out as well. Determined to get us where she wanted us, she positioned herself behind me and let out an enthusiastic, “Mama bum!”

Before I knew what was happening, she planted her hands onto my buttocks and shoved me toward the table, while behind me, Fergus and Jamie collapsed into laughter. Murtagh snorted behind his beard and let out a string of incomprehensible Gaelic. I didn’t understand until Jamie steered me into the bedroom to change. When I stripped off my sugar-covered scrubs, I found Jamie’s handprints perfectly outlined in powdered sugar on the seat of my pants. 

As I stared at my reflection in the mirror, debating whether I had time to wash my hair, intense pain grabbed me by my center, forcing me to grab the counter for support. I thought to call for Jamie, but the pain stole my breath away. 

Several minutes later, when I didn’t emerge in a timely fashion, little Faith found me, mid-contraction, pantless and hunched against the wall of the bathroom, standing in a small puddle. Her big eyes got even wider, and she pointed at my feet. “Mam wee?”

Not wanting to frighten her, I managed to pant, “No… Love… Get... Daddy. It’s time... to meet... Lump.” I tried to smile at her but only managed a grimace.

Three hours, two transfusions, and one breech birth later, we greeted our wee Lump for the first time. In the haze of my anemic exhaustion, and panicking over the silence of my newborn, I missed what the obstetrician told me as she handed the limp baby to the paediatrician, who whisked my preemie away to the warmer. I felt Jamie’s arms go round me and heard his words of love in my ear, and after a brief, hard kiss, I sent him across the room to be with the baby. Each passing second dragged like an hour while I strained to see what was happening. 

In the midst of the chaos, while my own medical team tried to halt my hemorrhage and the paediatrician applied positive pressure ventilation, Jamie’s eyes met mine across the room, and time halted altogether. I knew, somehow, that everything would be all right. Whatever happened, we would get through it together. 

Just seconds later, a thin, piercing cry filled the room. I closed my eyes so that I could listen. The baby’s voice mingled with Jamie’s joyous laughter, and together, they made the most beautiful sound in the world. 

A few minutes later, I opened my eyes to see Jamie hovering over me with a tiny bundle in his arms, tears shimmering in his eyes. “Say hello to your mam, Brianna!” 

She was perfect. Long, pale lashes grazed sweet, round cheeks, and a little tuft of red hair peeked out from under her hat. Then her eyes popped open, Jamie’s bright blue eyes peered up at me. At that moment I fell madly in love.

Jamie wrapped both of us in his arms, and in my ear, he whispered, “ _ Mo ghraidh,  _ thank ye for the greatest gifts of my life. Thank you for our children.”

 


End file.
